


Yellow tulips and other flora in my car

by KeiserFranz



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeiserFranz/pseuds/KeiserFranz
Summary: John's plan to surprise Paul with a little flower or two doesn't go as envisioned. And maybe it's a good thing.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36





	Yellow tulips and other flora in my car

**Author's Note:**

> basically silly love songs but make it a fic, starring the biggest fan of the aforementioned genre, right, John?;)

If anybody asked John about the motives of his actions they would either a) become a victim of Lennon's angry fit in which he would list reasons why he DIDN'T have to explain himself, EVER or b) be forced to listen to a long monologue about John's existence in which he would masterfully avoid the actual point and end it up with an anecdote about his cats.

Nobody had questioned anything, though, and so it was just John in his car, silently cursing and wanting to bang his head against the wheel. Oh, and don't forget the heap of flowers occupying the backseats. Flowers that he had purchased for Paul.

They had never done anything like that. Even the most casual compliments were wrapped in light jokes and teasing, probably so there other wouldn't get any funny ideas. Like, for instance, that their relationship was no longer fueled merely by sex and something fragile uncoiled between them.

Which was laughable because Paul asked John, the tone a casual shade of "it's nothing serious, bruv" if he had considered moving into Cavendish for a, ehem ehem, longer period of time? 

John blabbered out he ought to think it through, his face morphing into a concrete mask of suavity despite his brain singing a made-up song called simply I'M GOING TO LIVE WITH PAUL. And, of course, he didn't doubt for a second his answer was yes.

A week had passed since, and as he was heading to Paul's for a Saturday lunch (his favourite activity) and a walk with Martha (well, as long as it meant Paul was strolling by his side), an idea presented itself to him how to announce his decision like a romantic he deep down was. He'd buy Paul a nice, little bouquet. Something sweet and delicate that would remind Paul of John every time he looked at the vase or buried his nose into the fragranced petals. An apology for not having the balls to declare his love verbally, a promise to do exactly that in the future. And he could always downplay it, too, say some rubbish about princesses if Paul's reaction turned out to be negative. John hoped it wouldn't.

He chose an out-of-the-way flower shop in the hopes no paparazzi would monkey around and borrowed Stuart's old car because driving his Rolls Royce equalled saddling a camel for an afternoon ride through London. 

A grumpy, middle-aged woman greeted him with a sigh as if she couldn't believe his audacity to enter her shop and demand the same attention she pampered a row of giant cactuses with. It only served as an evidence John was at the right place, because George acted the same way whenever someone, even his mother, entered the bubble he shared with his garden. It indicated they cared about the flora, which is exactly what John craved -- flowers with soul. 

Then the real trouble began as his lack of experience showed. Red roses? A classic, but perhaps too much. Pink roses? Yellow ones? Tulips, sunflowers, lavender, gerberas? 

John's head started to spin as he realised the endless options he was facing. And, true to his extravagant nature, he almost bought half of the shop, earning himself a discount and something that could count as a smile.

His confidence wobbled at the beginning of the street Paul resided in, and John pulled up there, sinking into the web his mind weaved from his insecurities. What if he read their dynamic wrong and Paul only suggested living together to avoid one of John's tantrums? What if his boyfriend refused to receive the flowers and John would take them home, watching them wither while he pitied himself in the odour of decay. What if...

A new message lightened up his phone's screen, Paul's photo next to the text about how much he looked forward to their time together. John didn't know what to be ashamed of first -- his break-down or how it took one stupid text to wipe off his tears and start the engine again.

~~~

Surprisingly, they were spared the flocks of over-excited fans lazying in front of the house which eased John's worries about potential witnesses of the fiasco. He made a side note to advise Stuart to get smoked windshields anytime soon just in case.

Paul operated the gate with swift motions before bouncing to John and opening the door, not giving him a moment to pick himself up mentally.

"Hi!" He sang merrily, smacking their lips in a kiss and dragging John out by the lapel of his coat. "You will not believe, I promise you won't, what I managed to cook. Vegetarian lasagne! Remember how I burned it the last time and the time before that? I asked Carolyn, you know the chef at the neat little Italian restaurant we frequent, yes, the blonde, to give me constructive criticism and, y'know, tell me how to do it, so even you would like it...and she did! It's actually good. Martha likes it too, I was sceptical at first because she doesn't like vegetables and," he trailed off, his button nose scrunching up as he took a whiff of air like a hunting dog. "You have a new cologne? No, it's...it's--" Paul stepped back, his eyes shifting from the vehicle to his boyfriend "--John, where the fuck is your car?" 

"W-well, it's--"

"You haven't crashed anything, have you? I mean, you aren't hurt? And what's that in the back, is that something for that art project of yours? May I see? Let me see!"

Heavens, John reactions were slowed down compared to the ball of energy Paul resembled. There must be some truth about owners taking after their pets because he swore this was Martha's reaction every time they went to the park. Trained by the days he babysat the huge sheepdog, he lunged forward, tugging Paul, whose upper half already disappeared into the car's interior, back.

"There are flowers, I knew it! Are those for George? I was just talking with him about it the previous day, like, about his plans for the garden and how he is looking for this particular bush he could put right next to the fence. Personally, I think the fence should stand alone because the wood is gorgeous and-"

"Paul, babe, shh, they aren't for George, I bought them for you."

It seemed to do the trick, for a second at least, as Paul's mouth was already opening to voice even more assumptions, John needed to act quickly.

"Now, shut up for a moment, please, I-I this is...I haven't exactly prepared any speech and I think, well, I'm absolutely terrified you won't like it, so, just bear with me, yeah?" He opted for not studying Paul's face, content with the silence that followed his words, and began to rummage through the contents of his car.

"First, um, first we have purple gerberas, quite a bunch of them, actually, because they stand for elegance and, ehm, grace and...and charm! And I think you've got it all. Then, lavender, I know, I know, it doesn't look that fancy, but you you can grow it up, look at its nice pot, and it represents, well, the woman in the shop, reminded me of Mimi, that one, said it represented calmness and trust. You know I-I sometimes struggle with the latter and definitely lack the former, but you don't, and...and, so, that's me thanking you for being here."

John didn't risk a glance in his boyfriend's direction, grateful for taking his lenses off as soon as he stopped driving. With the right amount of creativity, he could pretend Paul was smiling and wanting to kiss him and not, just hypothetically, waiting for the tirade to be over so he could tell John to fuck off. Another group of flowers resurfaced, their stems shaking in the rhythm of John's trembling fingers.

"Next...sunflowers, right, because you're a joy to be around and I want you to be happy all the time. Then, ehm, _not this_ , so, red roses. That doesn't require an explanation. I love you." He ignored the blood warming up his cheeks at how naturally those words flew from his mouth. He made a promise to say them all the time if Paul still liked him, and reached for another dose of floral confessions. 

"Since I'm crap at telling you how much I admire everything you do, from music to the business and, well, to how you just always create something, I picked up dark pink roses to convey that you amaze me all the time, even if I it's a little scary sometimes. Then, _fuck_ , orange tulips, because they represent...eh, well, represent mutual understanding and connection, which I dare to say plays a role in our relationship."

His voice has transformed into a whisper, as he struggled to remember the precise definition the flower lady repeated at least twenty times at his demand. Paul, or the smudge he associated with him, didn't move or interrupt him, and he seized the opportunity to talk about the last flower, fetching his glasses to see the final reaction with a functioning sense of vision.

"The last one is a yellow peony, here, I've got five of 'em. I-It's for new beginnings and also the answer to your question about me moving in. YES, I'd like that very much. If...if the offer still stands."

There. He squeezed it all out and now awaited Paul's reaction. 

The usually articulate, vibrant man stood frozen, the persistent chewing at his pinky the only movement. He even stopped blinking, for christ's sake, John realised and his throat constricted with anxiety.

"Can you talk to me, Paul? W-was it too much? Has something happened? You aren't mad, are yo-please, don't be angry--"

"You really are something else, aren't you?" Paul replied, his voice raspier than usual as he stepped closer. "I always think I have you all figured out and nothing could catch me off guard, and you have to, just have to, prove me wrong. This--" he gestured to the car "--I think I can't even comprehend the reality anymore...It's lovely. I-I had been thinking about how I couldn't love you more but here we are. Thank you."

Each word travelled up John's spine like a warm stroke of silk, Paul said he loved him. Paul understood like no one else. 

If their kiss tasted a little salty and they both used their handkerchiefs to discreetly wipe their eyes after, that wasn't a topic to be discussed at the table where portions of delicious re-heated lasagne were served.

And if Paul insisted John recited the symbolism of individual flowers again and again while he jotted it down and documented it with a camera, a dreamy smile playing on his lips, no words of protest were heard.

Not a fan of any form of exercise, John did complain a ton when they not only had to relocate his purchase into the house but under Paul's sharp gaze spent hours by moving pots and glasses and mugs ("This, on the other hand, doesn't take me by surprise at all. Didn't the flowery butcher point out how you would need a vase or fifty? Do you think Martha would prefer roses or sunflowers near her bed?") all over the rooms to achieve something interior designers would call effortlessly chic in a hippie way. Nevertheless, he became more than agitated, after all, he'd move in a week and definitely didn't agree on tulips in the bathroom. ("Levander, for fuck's sake, I'm not washing myself if there ain't lavender, Paul.")

When they finally ended in the bed, Paul mumbling excitedly from his sleep about orange and understanding, and charm and gerberas, John felt fresh as if he too classified as a lavender sipping sparkling water on the windowsill in an expensive house in England. His dreams smelled like poppies sunbathing in the sun.

_The waves beside them danced; but they_  
_Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:_  
_A poet could not but be gay,_  
_In such a jocund company:_  
_I gazed—and gazed—but little thought_  
_What wealth the show to me had brought_.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write something sappy today, what can I say 😶 hope you all had a pleasant Sunday!! (our government is falling apart, so, that's something, at least I have my mint tea and scented candles, lol)
> 
> the snippet at the end (yep, included mainly for the "not but be gay" part by yours truly) is from a poem called I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud by William Wordsworth (I was kidding, it's a nice piece of work, ~~unlike this one ~~)~~~~


End file.
